


Work of Art

by angeloscastiel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, because these guys are dorks, possible game of thrones spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:26:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1821721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeloscastiel/pseuds/angeloscastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius Black is an engineering student with a leather jacket, a motorbike and a passion for physics. Remus Lupin is the art history major down the hall with a badly behaved rabbit and an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Renaissance. Somehow, they find common ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

“Did you get into Casterly Rock?” Sirius asked eagerly.

“Whattha?” James articulated, rolling over and peering at his best friend leaning against the doorframe. “You know Westeros isn’t _real.”_

“I mean the halls, you arse.” Sirius tossed an official-looking envelope in James’s direction. “The one we picked as our first choice? The one with the weird name and the Lannister sigil?”

James reached over, putting on his glasses with deliberate slowness, reaching for something to use as a letter-opener, while Sirius fidgeted impatiently in the doorway. “Fuck’s sake, Potter. _Rip it.”_

“I couldn’t risk damaging these fragile fingers – ”

“I’ll damage your fragile fingers – ” Sirius bounded across the room, reaching for the letter, but James was too quick. He rolled away, hitting the floor with a thud, before promptly realising he was tangled in his bedsheets and couldn’t move.

“Aha!” Sirius crowed triumphantly, plucking the letter from James’s hand. “ _Dear Mr Potter, we are pleased to announce that your application to Gryffindor House has been successful. Your room allocation is 208_...hey, we’re gonna be _roommates.”_

“Wonderful,” James muttered from the floor.

Sirius nudged him with a not-too-gentle foot. “You could sound more _excited_ about it.”

“I’ve been living with your smelly arse for seven years, Black.” James reached for the letter, scanning it quickly. “Gryffindor House,” he repeated. “That _is_ a weird name.”

“Not as bad as some of the others,” Sirius said, now seated contentedly on James’s bed and ruffling through a stack of brochures. “Ravenclaw Hall – that’s not _too_ bad, I guess – and _Slytherin_ Hall – their sigil’s a _snake – ”_

“It’s a _crest,_ Sirius.”

“Crest, sigil, whatever. Oh my _God.”_

James couldn’t get anything further from him, because Sirius had succumbed to hysterical guffaws of laughter, waving the brochure so erratically it took James several seconds to grab it off him and find what was so funny.

“Hufflepuff House,” he read, straightfaced.

 _“Hufflepuff,”_ Sirius managed.

“Bet it’s the last choice house.”

“ _Amicitia et labore,”_ Sirius read, snorting. “By friendship and hard work. _Bless_.”

“What’s ours, then?”

“ _Virtus omnia est_. Courage is everything? Everything is courage? _Courage_. Slytherin Hall is _ad supremam dignitatem –_ to the highest _dignitas – ”_

“I failed Latin, mate.”

“ _Dignitas_ ,” Sirius repeated, waving his arms. “Rank. Position. Honour. Dignity and reputation and…shit.”

“So they’re a bunch of poncy bastards?”

“Pretty much. And Ravenclaw Hall is _sophia super omnia existimandi –_ wisdom is above all – ew, it’s a _gerundive._ To be valued?”

“Pretentious.”

“Right?” Sirius turfed the brochures across James’s room. “I’m starving. Feed me.”

“Feed yourself.”

“You’re a terrible host.”

“You’ve lived here all summer, you’re not a _guest._ Gerroff my bed.”

“Make me,” Sirius responded lazily, certain James couldn’t be bothered, but three and a half second later he had been yanked unceremoniously to the floor by the ankles and was now pinned under James’s bulk.

“You got fat, Potter,” he gasped, because James had sat his hefty arse on Sirius’s chest.

“Muscle weighs more than fat, Black,” James replied airily. “Not that you’d know much about either.” He jabbed a critical finger at Sirius’s ribs.

“ _Ow_.”

“You gonna let me go back to bed? It was 9am last time I checked, which means you’re five hours early in waking me up.” James didn’t wait for an answer, just hefted himself off Sirius and crawled back under the covers. Sirius took a moment to assess the damage – crushed to near death, surely, but he would make a full recovery in time – before picking himself off James’s floor and sauntering into the kitchen.

It was a Saturday, which explained why Mr and Mrs Potter were both still at the kitchen table, lingering over the paper and a cup of tea each. “Good morning, Sirius,” Mrs Potter said brightly. “Tea? Toast?”

“Love some,” Sirius replied, taking a seat at the table and getting a funny, twisted feeling in his gut when Mr Potter passed him the cartoons and crosswords without a word. He was going to miss them – he was used to making homes out of places that were never meant to be homes, but the Potters made him feel like he was _supposed_ to be here, like nothing made them happier than welcoming Sirius into their family when he’d ran away from his own a year ago.

“Saw the post this morning,” Mr Potter said, breaking the silence. “You boys get into the same hall?”

“Yeah, we did. Gryffindor House.”

“We were in Gryffindor House,” Mrs Potter said reminiscently. “We loved it. Bit of a party hall, mind – make sure you keep on top of your studies.”

“We will. Or, James will and he’ll make sure I do.”

“If James is your stabilising influence, I’m worried. I thought we’d go shopping later on today and get you boys everything you need – is there a list of stuff to bring with you in that letter you got?”

“Um, yeah.” Sirius shuffled through his envelope, pulling out a gear list and passing it to Mrs Potter. “I haven’t had a chance to look over it yet – ”

“Sheets – we can give you sheets, we’ve got plenty of spare sets – and towels, too – you’ll be fine for bedding, I think – we’ll need to get you laundry hampers – does the hall do free laundry?”

“You have to pay for drying.”

“We’ll get you two some clothes airers then, too,” Mrs Potter said. “And mugs and plates – we’ve got plenty, you don’t need to worry about that – ”

Sirius drank his tea, only half-listening as Mrs Potter continued her catalogue of things they could spare from the house. He hadn’t given much thought to additional things he would need moving out – he just assumed he’d take all his worldly possessions and that would be enough, and the realisation he would either have to dig into his savings or be further indebted to the Potters for inconsequential things like laundry hampers and mattress protectors was not a welcome one. He’d already spent his last two weeks’ pay buying his textbooks from bookdepository – they were updated editions, so he couldn’t get them secondhand, and first year engineering textbooks were _expensive_ , but he’d had it on good authority to never buy from the campus bookshop.

“We could get them this morning, if you like?” Mrs Potter suggested, startling Sirius out of his reflections.

“Nah, James won’t be up till after lunch.”

Mrs Potter rolled her eyes. “We can go without James, then. And if we happen to stop by the supermarket and pick up snacks that he doesn’t like – that’s his problem for not being up.”

* * *

 

 The final week before James and Sirius left for uni passed in a blur. Sirius worked his final shift at the restaurant where he’d worked as a waiter the past two summers, Mrs Potter emptied the airing cupboard into the boys’ bags (enough towels to see them through the apocalypse; sheets that James took great delight in wondering if he had peed or puked on them as a small child) and, two nights before they were due to leave, their schoolmates Frank Longbottom, Peter Pettigrew, Benjy Fenwick and the twins Fabian and Gideon Prewett invited them out for drinks. _Technically_ Peter was still underage, but Sirius knew the pubs in town that wouldn’t ID them and hoped Pete wouldn’t give the game away by looking too suspiciously nervous.

“The old St Godric’s gang,” Benjy said, throwing his arms around James and Sirius and waving the other boys into his huddle. “Been an honour arsing about with you all for seven years.”

“Couldn’t have put it more eloquently myself,” Fabian said, raising his pint.

As the evening wore on and the beer flowed, conversation turned from uni (Frank, Peter and Frank’s girlfriend Alice had all gotten into Gryffindor House; the twins and Benjy were heading to different universities) to highlights of their time at St Godric’s Academy, and finally to the voting of Most Likely To awards, proposed by a stumbling Gideon and wholeheartedly agreed to by all.

“Most likely to get arrested for indecent exposure,” Frank began, climbing onto their table so they would all pay better attention to him, “…Sirius Black!”

“Most likely to bail him out, James Potter!” James yelled, and with a cheer he clinked glasses with Sirius.

“Most likely to end up a mad scientist,” Sirius called with a wave, “Frank Longbottom!”

“Most likely to be Prime Minister, Fabian Prewett!” Benjy decided.

“Most likely to immigrate the morning after the election, Gideon Prewett!”

“Most likely to accidentally join a cult, Peter Pettigrew!”

“Oi,” Peter said, momentarily offended, “Oh, all right. Most likely to drop out of uni, Benjy Fenwick.”

“Painfully accurate, Petey, painfully accurate,” Benjy said, slapping Peter heartily on the back. “Who’s up for shots?”

 

* * *

 

It took James and Sirius the better part of the next day to recover (the Potters just gave long-suffering sighs and plied the boys with coffee until they rolled out of bed to start packing) but after a solid afternoon/evening of sorting through what seemed like endless piles of stuff – “Why do I have so much shit?” James asked plaintively about an hour in, “No, seriously, why?” – a final tea of fish and chips and an early night militantly enforced by Mrs Potter, move-in day dawned bright and clear.

They left mid-morning, James’s beat-up Corolla filled to bursting (“Hey mate, d’you think it matters if I can’t see out my rearview window?”) and Sirius on his bike, choking on James’s exhaust fumes.

“I’m going in front,” Sirius told James before they left the driveway. “A fucking steam train puts out less smoke than your car.”

“I should really get a warrant for this thing.” James patted the steering wheel thoughtfully.

With a final wave to Mr and Mrs Potter, who had finally finished imparting nuggets of wisdom and words of warning and were now standing in the doorway of the house, Sirius revved his bike, grinned, and took off down the street.


	2. Two

Sirius had grown up around gorgeous old buildings – an inescapable consequence of an aristocratic upbringing in the _Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_ and attending St Godric’s Academy, but Gryffindor House, he thought, put it all to shame. The halls of residence were all incorporated into the same restored castle, and Gryffindor House was comprised almost entirely of a huge tower draped with the red and gold lion crest.

“Fuck me!” James yelled out the window. “Look at this place!”

Sirius pulled over to join him, gazing at their new home from across the street. “Fucking Casterly Rock, what did I tell you?”

“C’mon,” James said, turning off the ignition and clambering out of the car, pausing for a particularly luxurious stretch. “We’ll head in, find out where we’re meant to park. Quit preening, Black,” he added, because Sirius was peering in his bike’s rearview mirror and running a hand critically through his hair.

“My helmet,” Sirius said mournfully. “Destroyed my majestic locks.”

James rolled his eyes and crossed the road without him. Sirius scrambled to catch up.

They wandered around the front of the building for a bit before finding the entrance. There was a large table set up in the foyer (a majestic area, Sirius noted, with more Lannister-esque banners and an honours board of notable past students that included at least three Prime Ministers) and James made his way over to it.

“Afternoon,” he greeted the girl behind the table. “We live here.”

“Name?”

“Potter. James Potter.”

“Really?” Sirius asked. “You had to go for the Bond thing?”

“It would be a _crime_ not to,” James responded, before turning back to the girl, who was typing something into the laptop in front of her.

“Your room’s 208,” she told him. “You have a roommate – he hasn’t arrived yet – ”

“That’s him,” James said, jerking his thumb at Sirius. “Sirius Black. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous man.”

The girl chose not to pass judgement on that, merely passed over two sets of keys and gave them directions to their room.

“There’s limited parking round the corner. First come first served, but not many students need cars around here so you should be fine.”

They returned to their vehicles, circling the halls three times before finding the entrance to student parking. The girl behind the desk was right – there were only a handful of other cars in the entire carpark. James, with some degree of misplaced pride, counted four other early-to-mid-nineties Corollas.

Sirius had the only bike at Gryffindor House, it seemed, and he was about to make himself useful and help James unload the car when he spotted an old, sky blue Mini Cooper in the far corner.

“James!” he shouted with glee. “James, someone has a _Mini.”_

“Quit judging people’s cars and help me carry your shit,” James barked back.

“I’m not judging – ooh, he’s _gay,_ James.”

“Good, you can find him and fuck him _after we’ve moved in._ ”

Reluctantly, Sirius joined James and picked up a pile of boxes – he may have deliberately gone for the lightest box of pillows and duvets, and James scowled at him. “How’d you know Mini guy’s gay anyway?” he huffed.

“Bumper stickers.”

“Just coz someone’s got a pro gay marriage sticker on their car doesn’t mean they’re gay.”

“Nah, it said ‘I’m so gay I can’t even drive straight.’”

“Could be a lesbian.”

“Nah,” Sirius said confidently. “Looks like a bloke.”

“A bloke who drives a light blue Mini?” James asked skeptically.

“A gay one.”

They reached the stairs and began to climb. All the rooms were in the tower, and they climbed a seemingly endless spiralling staircase.

“I thought we were on the second floor,” Sirius panted.

“We are. That was ground. Then there were _two_ floors of first – aha, second – oh, bollocks.” He stopped dead on the landing, glaring at the sign that read _Rooms 201-204_. “I think we’re another floor up.”

“For the love of God, man, keep walking. My arms are about to fall off.”

“You’re carrying _pillows,_ Black.” James started up the final flight of stairs, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the sign _Rooms 205-208,_ and charged ahead. “Aha!” he shouted triumphantly, and Sirius followed his voice.

Their floor was small, a looping corridor with rooms on the outside and a central island housing two communal bathrooms and a kitchenette. The room James was now dragging his boxes into was furthest from the landing – and opposite the kitchenette, Sirius noted happily.

It took them another three trips from the car to bring up all their gear, by which time Sirius had collapsed dramatically on his bare mattress and cursed his lack of muscles.

“Should have played a sport at St Godrics,” James said unsympathetically.

Sirius threw his wadded-up, sweaty shirt at him. “I was cox of our team, you prick.”

“Note I said _played,”_ James said. “Not _sat at the front of the boat while everyone else did the actual rowing.”_ He tossed the shirt back at Sirius. “Nobody wants to see your weedy self topless.”

“I’m not _weedy._ I’m _lean.”_

“Keep telling yourself that.” James looked around the piles of unopened boxes. “If we start with – ”

He cut himself when he realised Sirius had bounded off his bed and was already heading out the door. “Gonna go meet people!” he called over his shoulder.

“Dick,” James called after him.

According to the text he’d gotten at stupid o’clock in the morning, Pete was in Room 206, and Sirius made it his first mission to find him. It wasn’t difficult, given there were all of four rooms on their floor, but when he knocked on and opened the door of 206 it wasn’t Peter who greeted him.

“Hello?”

The boy standing in front of Sirius was startling for two reasons – one, he wasn’t Peter, and two, he was gorgeous – tall and shy-looking with wispy light brown hair and a small, confused smile.

“Hi,” Sirius said, recovering quickly. “I’m Sirius, I’m in 208 – Peter around?”

“Peter?” the boy repeated. “Oh, yeah – he’s gone exploring, I think, should be back soon.” He hovered in the doorway, as if unsure whether to continue conversation. “I’m Remus, by the way.”

“Remus? Cool name.” He sauntered into the room, perched on Peter’s bed (He’d had the same Star Wars blanket his whole time at boarding school, and apparently had seen fit to bring it to uni as well) and made himself comfortable.

“See, I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic about that or not.”

He snorted. “You think a bloke called _Sirius_ is in any position to judge?”

“Fair point. You haven’t heard the whole thing though.”

“Hit me.”

“Lupin. My name’s Remus Lupin.”

Sirius was silent for a moment. “That’s…uh. _Lupine_.”

“Yes.”

“Can I call you Wolfy McWolfpants?”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

“Are you secretly a werewolf?”

“You’re welcome to find out at the next full moon.”

“Is that an invitation, Moony?”

“Well, you do live next door, so – ” Remus frowned. “Moony?”

“Good name for a secret werewolf.”

“I’d be a piss-poor secret werewolf if I called myself _Remus Lupin.”_

“Hiding in plain sight.”

“Touche. What are you studying, Dog Star?”

“That’s _brightest star in the sky_ to you. Engineering.”

“Noble pursuit, O Brightest Star in the Sky.”

“What about you? What’s your noble pursuit?”

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

Sirius scrutinised the cardigan-wearing boy in front of him. “Classics.”

“Almost, but no.”

“Almost as in you _almost_ studied it, or it’s _almost_ Classics?”

“Both.”

“English.”

“Getting colder.”

“History.”

“Close, but no cigar. You lose, Dog Star.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Art History.”

“That’s _history.”_

“Wrong again.”

“Pedantic,” Sirius huffed.

“Engineer,” Remus shot back.

They were interrupted by James, who had apparently followed the sound of Sirius’s voice. “Mate. Mate. Mate. I’ve just seen an _angel.”_ He paused briefly to glance at Remus – “Hi, I’m James. I’m in 208,” – before turning back to Sirius. “Where’s Pete? I thought he said he’s on this floor?”

“Missing in action,” Remus answered. “I’m his roommate.”

“Yeah, this is Remus,” Sirius added.

“It’s lovely to see you making friends,” James told Sirius, ruffling his hair. “Mum would be proud.”

“Are you two brothers?” Remus asked.

“In all but name,” Sirius replied.

“And, you know. Genetics.”

“So who’s this angel you were telling me about?” Sirius prompted.

“Oh, she’s _gorgeous,_ Sirius. Kissed by fire – ”

Remus made a strange noise. “You’re not talking about Lily, are you?”

“Lily Evans?” James asked eagerly. “Do you know her?”

“Very well.”

“Oh, shit,” James said, his face falling. “You’re not her boyfriend, are you? Because I’m sorry – ”

“Her boyfriend?” Remus repeated. “God, no, I’m gay as a rainbow. I grew up with her – ”

Whatever Remus was saying about Lily Evans, however, Sirius tuned out – too distracted by the fact this gorgeous, quick-witted boy was gay – had he been flirting with Sirius? Had Sirius flirted back? Was twenty minutes too early into their acquaintance to shove him against a wall and kiss him senseless?

All equally important considerations.

He tuned back into the conversation just as James and Remus were swapping majors and Peter came bursting in, looking a bit stunned. “Whoa. We gained _people_.”

“The elusive Pete returns,” James said. “Where’ve you been?”

“Exploring. Found the vending machines.” He lowered his voice, added reverentially, “They take _EFTPOS.”_

“ _Excellent,”_ Sirius said, rubbing his hands together. “Good selection?”

“I’ll never leave Gryffindor House.”

“Please go to lectures,” James said.

The crowd in Peter and Remus’s room swelled further with the arrival of two girls, a brunette and a pretty redhead. James fell oddly silent, seemingly torn between staring at the redhead and avoiding eye contact with her entirely, and Sirius decided this must be the famous Lily.

“Making friends, Remus?” she asked brightly, perching on the edge of his bed between him and James. “Hi again, James. I’m Lily, by the way,” she added, turning to Sirius. “I’m doing Fine Arts.”

“Sirius,” he returned. “Engineering.”

“Engineering?” the brunette repeated. “Me too. I’m Marlene.”

“Oh, really? What branch?”

“Not sure yet, probably civil. You?”

“Mechanical. What courses are you doing?”

Within twenty minutes their entire floor was packed into Peter and Remus’s room after the inhabitants of 207 joined them – Frank’s girlfriend Alice and her roommate, who introduced herself as “Dorcas, law and commerce.” Sirius wanted to talk more with Remus – it was great getting to know everyone on their floor and all, but if it were up to him he’d take a raincheck on the meet and greet – but Marlene was still chattering happily about their courses and whether Sirius had heard anything about their lecturers, and Remus was absorbed in conversation with Peter and Dorcas.

By the time they headed down to dinner neither James nor Sirius had set foot in their room again, let alone _unpacked_ anything, and Sirius was embroiled in a deep debate with Dorcas over the rightful king of Westeros.

“It was _Renly,”_ Sirius said firmly. “Renly should be sitting the Iron Throne, he had the charisma, the support of the people – ”

“He wasn’t the _rightful_ king,” Dorcas argued. “Westerosi law makes it clear that the throne should go to _Stannis_ – ”

“ _Birth order_ does not a true king make.”

“Stannis saved the Wall! Would Renly have saved the Wall? _I think not_.”

“Well, thanks to _Stannis_ we never got to find out!”

“Renly had no concept of what it means to _rule – ”_

“Neither does Stannis! If he rewards everyone who serves him by chopping off their fingers he’s going to have another rebellion on his hands, and how is inciting a _revolt_ good kingship?”

“Renly’s just a thinner, less drunk version of Robert – ”

“Jon Snow for the Iron Throne,” Remus said quietly, joining the conversation.

“Jon Snow has less than no claim to it.”

“If he’s the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen – ”

“He’s still a bastard.”

“So is Tommen Baratheon,” Remus pointed out. “All you need is a good PR team.”

“I like the way you think,” Sirius declared, clapping a hand on Remus’s shoulder as they took their seats in the cavernous dining hall – the Great Hall, it was called. He barely even noticed what they were eating – some unidentified meat and vegetables, he thought – he was too wrapped up in conversation with Remus. Dorcas had given up trying to talk to them and was now chatting animately with Lily, and it took James three attempts to get Sirius’s attention until he finally waved a hand in Sirius’s face.

“Oi, Black!”

“Huh?” Sirius asked, startled.

“We need to go _unpack our shit_.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Shit. Unpack. I’ll see you later?” he added hastily, turning to Remus.

Remus just gave him an amused sort of smile. “Your room’s next to mine, Dog Star. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.”


End file.
